Epoch of the Dying Gods
by LordDerrick
Summary: She took from him everyone he loved. She promised him salvation. Eternity. Power. Pleasure. He named her Caillech Beare, the Destroyer, and the vengeance of the dying gods will be his. Time Travel, Harry/Multi, Powerful Harry
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

 **A/N: This is my first attempt at a fan fiction since becoming a published author. I will not release the names of my books or my actual name. I am doing this purely for the joy of writing about Harry Potter. I love Rowling's universe.**

 **This WILL be a time travel fic. Those are my favorite. Harry will not have a single partner. I do not know many people who only dated one person their entire life. Voldemort is not the main villain. Harry will be extremely powerful. He will not act like a child. Enjoy. If you do, please review.**

 **Epoch of the Dying Gods**

 **Chapter One**

Harry Potter stared at the gravestone.

 _Hermione Granger_ _1979-1999_.

Seventy-one years had passed. Harry did not care to remember it. The pain was still fresh, even after all that time. The bastard who killed her still lived, slowing rotting the years away in the torturous catacombs of Azkaban Prison. Harry did not speak the bastard's name. A shiver ran down his spin. He pulled his overcoat tighter around him. The bitter night air abated only slightly. A snowflake settled on the worn gravestone.

"Staring at her grave will not bring her back, Harry."

Harry spun sharply on his heel. His green eyes snapped to the slender, beautiful woman standing behind him. Her long, white hair contrasted starkly with his own short, black hair. Where he wore a fitted suit and overcoat, she wore a black, sleeveless dress that stopped mid-thigh. The night air did not seem to bother her exposed, delicate skin. Fiery blue-grey eyes stared at him.

"Hello, Luna," Harry said, his voice half groaning. "Why are you bothering me tonight?"

The pale woman pouted and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Are you not happy to see me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not particularly. You usually want something."

A smile crossed Luna's almost ethereal features. "You always come here, Harry. Every year." She shrugged. "I wanted to join you. I miss her too."

He nodded and turned back to the gravestone, though instinct warned him not to turn his back on Luna. He ignored the instinct. If Luna wanted him dead, facing her would not likely help him stop her. Besides, he wanted her here. He knew she would come looking for him tonight. He had counted on it. "You could bring her back," he said, saying the words again for the thousandth time.

Luna sighed. She stepped across the snow-laden ground, her feet barely making impressions despite the tall heels she wore. She put a hand on Harry's shoulder. The Boy-Who-Lived tensed, a flash of pain searing through his right arm.

"You're hurt," Luna said, her voice suddenly sounding very worried.

Harry shrugged her off and stepped out of her reach. "It's nothing. A flesh wound."

Luna raised a delicate eyebrow in question. "The Inquisitors?"

Harry nodded. "They will be here soon. They are coming for me."

"And you are just going to stand here and let them take you?" she asked, her tone carrying more than a hint of threat.

Harry said nothing. He did not need too. Luna knew how he felt. She knew how much he missed everyone. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Remus, Sirius. Too many dead filled his memories. He only saw darkness when he closed his eyes at night. His nightmares haunted him even in the waking hours. Death, his constant companion, hovered at the edge of his thoughts. But it never came. Instead, it flirted with him, tempting his spirit with promises of reunions and peace. Its cold embrace promised a rest that Harry so dearly desired. "I am so tired," he said.

Luna gave him a blank stare. "Do you know what they will do to you? They will dissect you and pick apart every piece of your body until there is nothing left. They crave every bit of magic they can gather, and you are willingly handing it to them!"

He stood, waiting for her tirade to finish. He did not have it in him to argue with her. When she stopped, he turned his head to meet her furious gaze. His empty green eyes just stared, unblinking. "Go away, Luna. They cannot arm you. The inquisitors have no qualm with the fae."

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and she took a step towards him. The already cold air dropped twenty degrees. She flashed her teeth dangerously, her sharp, inhuman canines almost glistening in the light of the full moon. "Do you call me a coward, Harry Potter?"

"No," he said. A flutter of warmth spread through his chest, chasing away some of the pain in his right shoulder. "There is no point in you dying too."

"Then name me," she hissed, anger boiling hotter at every syllable. "I will wipe this earth clean of the beasts that would take you from me."

Harry could not help but smile. How many times had she asked him to do that very thing? "Are you sure, my lady? There is no turning back. If you fight the Inquisitors, the humans will wage war on the fae. I am not fae. The gods will not like you risking it all for a lowly mortal."

"Yes," she said. She stepped next to him, encircling her arms around his neck.

Harry felt an icy shiver run through him. He almost doubled over in pleasure. Images filled his mind of a naked Luna contorting to meet his every desire, her flawless body his to devour with passion. He felt his knees grow week. Her power swept over him, enticing the most primal part of his mind. He fought to ignore it, to concentrate on where he was, what he had to do.

Luna reached up and touched his lips with a single, perfect finger. She leaned against his ear. The feeling of her breath tickled his skin as she said, "Name me, Harry Potter, and I will never abandon you."

He shuddered, every cell in his body crying out with longing. "I name, thee," he whispered, "Luna Lovegood."

Luna narrowed her eyes and pushed his chest. Harry fell hard to the ground, his limbs sprawling. He banged his left forearm against one of the gravestones. He muffled a scream as the bone snapped. His vision darkened in sudden, quick pain. Calmly, he centered himself, forcing away the pain, lust and fear. He had a mission to accomplish.

Luna looked down at him. Despite the pain of his broken arm, it took all he could not to trace the shape of her long, exposed legs. "Do you think me a fool, Harry? I kept you alive, in perfect health, all these years. Where other mortals have withered and died, you have survived, ageless and unchanging." She took another step towards him. Ice formed on the gravestones around them. "I have given you power beyond that which any mortal has wielded. You, who has challenged the gods and won, must now pay my price. Name me, foolish man. Let me save you," she said.

Harry took a deep breath. His hands began to shake from a combination of fear, hypothermia, and shock. Now was the moment. To name her, to call her fully into the mortal plane, would be to unleash a part of the world that had been hidden for millennia. Pandora Lovegood, years before, had tried to pry into the labyrinth of history. She had sought knowledge above all else, and she, along with her small child, had paid the ultimate price. In the wake of their deaths, they left behind a lost and scared girl who thought herself to be Luna Lovegood. Years later, at the peak of Voldemort's second rise, the deadly truth had begun to shape a new reality. If he unleashed that truth fully, if he failed in his plan, he could not stop her. No one could.

Harry opened his mouth to speak.

 _CRACK!_

The first bullet struck Harry in the chest, digging through clothing, flesh, and bone. It bit through organs and left a trailing wave of fire burning where blood once flowed. The second bullet hit him between the eyes. His skull caved under the pressure and his brain exploded in a shower of gore. The air around him sizzled with magic and energy. Blood and brain matter splattered Luna and the graveyard. All at once his body crumbled into ash and blew away in the wind.

Luna screamed, her eyes wide and hysterical. Two more bullets shot off. One lodged in her shoulder. The other in her neck. She did not even flinch. The balls of led pulled themselves free of her flesh and fell to the ground. The marks healed almost instantly, leaving behind nothing more than flawless, unmarked skin. A spark of fire lit at her feet and began to spin around her, slowly rising, leaving behind streaks of orange and red flame. The spark grew into a spinning wall, and the wall became a churning cyclone of fire that surrounded Luna. She cried out and thrust her arms out by her side, pure rage pouring out of every pore in her skin. The cyclone tore through the air and sped in the direction from which the bullets had come. Human screams filled the night air a moment later.

Suddenly, black-armored soldiers surrounded her, pouring in by the dozens. All of them had weapons trained on her. She raised her hand to strike, but a voice stopped her cold in her tracks.

"I name, thee," said the voice, silky, smooth, and perfectly articulated. Every syllable it spoke clamped down on her power like iron. A man stepped between the soldiers, his perfectly tailored suit and overcoat an exact replica of the one Harry had worn only moments before. The bright green eyes that looked at her so calmly were not replicas.

"Harry?" she asked in a confused whisper.

"I name thee Mab, Queen of Air and Darkness, Lady of the Unseelie." The world stopped. The wind stood still. Snow paused in the air. The soldiers did not sweat, breathe, or feel. The night ended, and the moon turned a dark red. Harry Potter walked to stand in front of the avatar of his only living friend, the last of his childhood compatriots. _No,_ he thought _, Luna Lovegood died eighty-one years ago. This isn't her. It never was._ "I name thee by thy true name. I name thee Babd, caller of the Morrigan. By all the powers of hell and heaven, I name thee Cailleach Beare, the Destroyer."

Harry's eyes grew harder and colder than the gravestones that bore the names of all that had fallen. A tangible aura of power spread around him. The snow melted beneath his feet. "You killed them all. One by one, you sought them and killed them. I watched as you twisted them like your pawns. I trusted you. I named you a friend. How long did you pretend to love me?"

Luna's eyes widened with a silent plea. "Harry, I do love you. I've always loved you. You are everything to me. None of the others treated me like a friend, but you've always been there. I never betrayed you. All the others were just using you."

She had a frantic, feral look to her, but she stood in place. Harry had named her and bound her. He could do with her as he pleased. Until he gave his command, she was frozen, awaiting his order. Images started flickering through his mind again. More promises of pleasure. He bit into his tongue to keep himself focused. The bite of pain broke the spell enough to push aside her magic. "No, goddess. You will not escape today. Caillech Beare, Ruler of Winter, I cast you from this world and condemn you to the hell you have sent us all."

Luna tried to scream or screech or make any noise at all, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. A ball of light formed between them. The invisible bonds holding her broke. Furiously, she reached out and grabbed Harry. The suited wizard tried to fight her off, but he could not pull out of her grip. The ball of light between them sizzled and exploded, expanding to cover them both before collapsing back in on itself, leaving nothing behind but dozens of very confused soldiers.

* * *

" _Hem, Hem."_

Harry blinked. He was a room. It looked vaguely familiar, as if part of a distant memory. The walls were stone. The room was slightly chilly despite a warm fire that burned in a fireplace on the other side of the room. Ancient glass windows hung open. He smelled the unmistakable air of the Scottish Highlands. "Where am I?" he asked dumbly.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter? It is rude to interrupt the teacher," said a woman from the front of the room in a sickly-sweet voice.

Harry looked up at her sharply, focusing on her toad-like face. Her pink cardigan and pink Alice band looked incredibly familiar. How did he know her? Harry looked around the room, trying to blink away the light and flood of faces. He… he did not know. He was confused. Lost. This looked like…

"No," he said aloud.

"Harry, don't," hissed Hermione under her breath.

Hermione?

Harry turned to looked at his old friend. His dead friend. She gave him a stern look, her frizzy hair looking more frazzled than normal. He had never seen anyone so beautiful as she looked in that moment. "Hermione," he whispered, barely daring to say the name for fear that she would disappear. He reached out and touched her face.

Hermione pulled back. "Harry, what's wrong with you? Why are you-"

"Mrs. Granger! Turn around and be quiet."

"But Professor Umbridge, something's wrong with-" Hermione started.

Umbridge. Harry turned back to the front of the room, his eyes pausing just a moment on every familiar face. Neville, Lavender, Ron, Pavarti, Seamus, Dean, they were all there. They were all alive. At the front of the room, glaring at him, stood Dolores Jane Umbridge. Her toad-like face was scrunched in annoyance. Harry blinked.

"Mr. Potter, if you are finished disturbing the class, we will continue," she said in her fake, girlish voice.

Harry stood up. He looked around the room, scanning every face. Ron sat on his right. Hermione sat on his left. His two best friends. Both were looking at him with concern. He could care less. He had never been so happy in his life. Even if this was death, it did not matter. He had waited decades to be reunited with his friends. Clearly, Umbridge being here meant he was in Fields of Punishment, but he could live with that.

"Mr. Potter, SIT DOWN!" Umbridge yelled, her cool demeanor snapping.

Harry flung his hand out towards Umbridge, never taking his eyes off Hermione. His best friend gasped audibly when Umbridge was lifted from her feet and slammed into the wall at the back of the classroom. The unconscious professor slumped to the ground in a heap. A wave of dizziness overcame Harry. He swayed on his feet. He still did not look away from Hermione. He did not want the moment to end.

"You're here," was all he managed before unconsciousness took him and chaos broke loose.

 **A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry blinked and tried to sit up. When he did, his head began to spin. The blurry shape of an old man sat next to him. The old man placed a hand on his shoulder and steadied him. Harry squinted, trying to focus. He knew that voice.

"I can't see," Harry said.

"Yes, I imagine not," the old man said. Harry felt something slide into his hand. "Put your glasses on."

Glasses? He had not worn glasses in fifty years. Slowly, his shaky hands unfolded the wire frame glasses and placed them on his face. His vision cleared, and he saw the face of man he had not seen in almost eighty years.

"Dumbledore," Harry whispered.

"I should think that headmaster or professor might be appropriate, Harry," Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye.

Harry looked right into the old man's eyes, not expecting the legilimency probe that hit him like a freight train. Visions of the past seventy or so years fluttered through his mind. Where were his shields? With a gargantuan effort of will, Harry shoved the old man out of his mind.

Dumbledore tumbled back as if he had been shoved. Harry rolled right, dropping from the bed he was lying on just as Dumbledore rose to his feet, wand already out. _The Elder Wand_ , Harry thought. What was happening? The Elder Wand was a magical item. The Fields of Punishment would never allow a magical item within its borders unless it was carried by a god. Where was he?

Dumbledore dipped the wand slightly. The bed flipped out of the way. A wall of magic hit Harry half a second later, pinning him against the wall with a strength Harry had not seen in a mortal in a very long time. The power he felt scared him. He knew it. Every magical entity had a signature. The more powerful the magical entity, the more powerful the signature. Someone like Harry had a signature that could overpower weaker wizards. His aura, when fully exposed, could command loyalty and paralyze armies with fear, even if only for a moment. The signature he felt now was very near his own aura's strength.

Harry did not struggle against the professor's magic. He could have. He might have won, even weakened as he was, but he did not need to. Harry knew the wizard in front of him. Just like he knew Hermione and Ron. Only Albus Dumbledore had a magical signature so uniquely Dumbledore. No being in all the nine planes could craft a replica of that. It left Harry with a startling conclusion, one that should not be possible.

He was alive and back at Hogwarts during his fifth year.

The room darkened, despite the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Harry was vaguely aware that he was in the Hospital Wing, but a strong compulsion caused him to focus almost completely on the looming figure of Albus Dumbledore. The Headmaster no longer looked old. He looked ageless and infinite. His power stood as a raging hurricane of magic, and at its nexus stood the archmage that struck fear into the hearts of dark wizards across the planet. "Who are you, and where is Harry Potter?" Dumbledore's voice carried the weight of a thousand wizards speaking at once. He shook the stone walls of the castle.

Harry could hardly speak. The words would barely come out. Dumbledore's power might be weaker than his own, but the old man had a control over it that Harry had only begun to grasp, even after his eight decades of practice. But Harry knew the headmaster, and that gave Harry a power that Dumbledore did not expect. "I name thee **Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore**."

Energy crackled in the room. Dumbledore staggered. Harry did not just say the old wizard's name. He enunciated it in magic, giving rising to every syllable just as he had done with Luna, carving into the words his affection and knowledge of the wizard. It was a connection only a close, and trusted friend could have to another. And it gave Harry power. He had spoken Dumbledore's true name. His wizard's name.

Unlike Luna, Dumbledore was not bound. Essentially, despite his impressive power and advanced years, Dumbledore was still mortal. The naming ritual affected him because of his power, but the ritual did not bind it. The ritual was a weapon against the immortals. Millennia ago, before humanity ever discovered fire, the Ancients agreed to a series of laws that prevented them from exploiting the mortal races. The naming ritual gave an immortal entrance to the mortal plane, but it came at a price. The immortal would be bound, unless released, to a specific task and purpose. Technically, the immortal could break the binding, but doing so would violate laws so ancient that only the oldest of immortals even remembered the consequences. The naming ritual only made Dumbledore stumble. He shrugged it off with the ease of any other mortal.

Dumbledore looked at Harry in shock, his eyes empty of the twinkle Harry remembered so well. "Harry?" he asked.

Harry nodded. He took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes. He reached out to the ambient magic in the room around him. The magic of Hogwarts! He pulled the castle's magic to him. It embraced him, surrounding him in a tender blanket of comforting energy and power. The castle recognized him.

When he opened his eyes again, they glowed. His waning energy reserves were slowly being replenished by the castle's wards, a natural function of the castle designed to help healing and tired students. Harry simply manipulated the power to focus on him. Immediately, his muscles felt stronger. His legs steadied. He snapped through the magic that held him against the wall with ease.

"I have spoken to you the true name of Albus Dumbledore and offer my name in return," Harry started. He held up his right hand. A white light flashed in his palm and washed over the room, blanketing it in a silencing ward. "I am the son of Lily and James Potter, born October 31, 1980. I have wielded the powers of Creation and took up Caledfwlch to cross blades with Balor himself. I slew the Leanan Sidhe and road with the Dullahan. My name is Harry James Potter, and it appears that I have returned to the past to right the wrongs of a traitorous bitch who will know the taste of my steel."

Dumbledore stepped over to him. Harry did not tense when the Headmaster grasped his shoulders. He opened his mind to the mental probe that followed. For what seemed like hours, Dumbledore stared into his eyes, sifting through memories and thoughts. In that time the aged Headmaster grew even older as the weight of Harry's experiences hit him.

"My dear boy," Dumbledore said softly, his voice weary and sad. "So much pain. So much sadness. I never wished this future on you."

Harry reached up and placed a hand on Dumbledore's. "You could not have stopped it. We were being manipulated far more than any of us knew. You are not a god."

Dumbledore nodded and pulled back. He walked slowly to one of the hospital beds and sat down. Every step seemed to pain him. "I will not let you harm Miss Lovegood."

His vision darkened. A cold dagger of betrayal plunged into his heart. "You saw what she did," he hissed.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I saw what she will do. She has not committed those crimes yet, Harry. You may be powerful, but you cannot dictate the future. You saw what happens when gods interfere with mortal affairs. Would you deny her a chance?"

Harry flashed his teeth. "If it meant saving everyone that I love, yes," he snarled. "I would destroy every immortal who dared enter our plane."

"Then you are no better than the gods who use us as pieces in their games."

Was he really so terrible? Had he really lost so much compassion? Of course, he had. Luna had taken it from him with every death she caused. Every friend he lost cost him more of his soul. Piece by piece, Harry Potter died until, finally, there was nothing left. "I am not some school boy, Dumbledore."

The Headmaster's gaze turned icy. His words struck Harry like steel. "No, you are not, and you cannot stay in this school."

Harry gave a single, curt nod. "I did not plan to do so."

"The aurors will come for you," Dumbledore added. "You attacked a professor and the Senior Undersecretary for Magic. You will be tried and sentenced to Azkaban."

"Do you think I fear a few aurors?"

"No, Harry, I do not." Dumbledore stood once more. His aura flared fully, and Harry almost took a step back out of pure reflex. He steadied himself and met the Headmaster's threatening gaze. "But you should fear me. If you try and bring harm to any of my students, I will not be so cordial as I am now."

Harry understood then why Albus Dumbledore was feared by Voldemort. The slightly senile grandfather act was gone. Dumbledore was a titan, a force of unbridled magical fury. The act he portrayed only just barely kept his power in check.

"Then do not let her fall," Harry responded.

He turned and walked to an open window. He reached out a hand and sought for a particular connection, surprised that he still recognized it. When he found it, he pulled. A moment later, his old Firebolt flew through the window and into his open hand. He paused and considered Dumbledore.

"I really thought you would try and keep me here. I expected some line about the greater good and all."

Dumbledore frowned. "Do not operate in cliché's, Harry."

Harry barked a quick laugh and leaped through the open window.

A rush of early fall air curled around him, licking at his face with tongues of chilly wind. He felt alive in a way only flying could make him feel. As the Scottish Highlands raced hundreds of feet below him, Harry smiled. For the first time in a long while, the smile was real. He did not understand what happened. He rarely did with magic, but he knew he had a second chance. He could save Ron. He could protect Hermione. He would change the world and the future. With a gentle push, he angled the Firebolt to the south.

He knew just where to start.

Fire and earth magic weaved together to sustain the wards surrounding Malfoy Manor. The spells dated back centuries, to the Norman conquest. Harry Potter did not use Norman magic. He bore the crest of the Dagda. Old Celtic blood ran through veins. Celtic magic saturated every pore of Britain and Ireland. Since the days of the old gods, it had reigned supreme. When Harry threw his power against the Manor's wards, even the ground beneath his feet answered. The wards crumbled like paper. Stone broke and iron wrought gates crashed open.

Lucius Malfoy, himself, led the group of deatheaters that came to meet him. Nine wizards charged from the house, raining down spellfire upon Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived slashed with his wand and tore through their spells, ripping the very magic from them and dispersing it harmlessly into the afternoon air. Another slash of his wand brought the deatheaters to their knees. He walked up to Malfoy and grabbed him by the long strands of pale white hair. He yanked Malfoy's head back and placed his wand against the older wizard's throat.

"Take me to him."

Voldemort squared off against Harry, a thin grimace painted on his face. Sweat dropped in tiny beads across his forehead and down his cheeks. His wand shook in his hand, but he held it in front of him like a sword. Bellatrix Lestrange's decapitated body lay behind him. Her husband and brother-in-law's bodies were close by.

Harry held a sword in his right hand. Blood soaked the long, folded steel blade. Still fresh, the hot liquid dripped on the marble floor of Malfoy Manor. In his left hand, he held a wand. "Is that the best you can do?" Harry asked the most feared dark lord in modern Britain's history.

Voldemort sneered and sent lines of black mist hurtling towards Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived raised his sword and sliced at the lines. They dissipated in a cloud of black energy. Harry rolled his eyes and stepped forward, bringing his wand up as he did so. Blue spellfire lashed out faster than the exhausted dark lord could respond. The tendrils of magic wrapped around Voldemort's neck and squeezed. In a panic, Voldemort dropped his wand and pulled desperately at the spell. Somehow, he managed to take hold of the spellfire and began to pull it from around his neck. Harry's sword was faster.

The Dark Lord Voldemort died. His headless corpse fell, blood pouring from it in droves. As the Dark Lord's spirit tried to escape, Harry clenched his wand hand into a fist. The spirit shrieked and writhed, but Harry held firm until it ceased struggling. He called forth the flames of the Dagda and struck the spirit of Voldemort from the mortal plane. A sharp pain in his forehead made him wince as the horcrux died with its owner.

Harry wiped the blood from his sword on his Hogwarts robes. He needed new clothes. "Malfoy," he called. The pale aristocrat stood in the corner, drenched in sweat and terrified. He had not tried to defend Voldemort like the others. Harry respected the intelligence. He loathed the cowardice. Nonetheless, Malfoy was a capable pawn. Harry was not going to throw any tool so easily given.

"Y-yes, my Lord?" Malfoy stammered, not daring to move.

"Take this to the Minister. Send my compliments." He tossed Voldemort's head towards Malfoy. It hit the ground and rolled to the aristocrat's feet, leaving behind a trail of blood. Voldemort's open, empty eyes stared up at Malfoy. The blonde wizard wrinkled his nose but did not complain. "Tell him that I am coming."

 **A/N: Thank you all who have reviewed. I really appreciate your feedback. I am finding this more difficult. My writing now is primarily academic. Fiction and nonfiction are a world apart. I am struggling to adjust. Your feedback, especially criticism/suggestions, would be most appreciated. I will be updating by Star Wars/Harry Potter crossover in the coming weeks.**


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